Okay, slight isn’t really the word for it, I guess.  I have a bunch of friends who no longer have an income.  I have another bunch of friends who are experiencing an uptick in their employment status and income.  For both, it seems, times have never been better.  New opportunities are seized, a long awaited break is fully taken advantage of, new businesses are started, and new careers are launched.

Still, our new president, Mr. Obama, has his work cut out for him.  He needs to fix housing, banking, healthcare, Iraq, Afghanistan, China, rally the country, and look good doing it (luckily for him, and us, the Mrs. Looks good with her new “updo”).  Many stimulus packages have been proposed.  $800 billion for banks.  $500 billion for housing.  A troop withdrawal from Iraq.  Tax cuts for US taxpayers.

But, I think there is a better stimulus plan that could be put in place.  Not surprisingly, my plan would revolve around wine.  I mean, the Romans, Greeks, Italians, and the French all had a grand time over-indulging in wine in the “best of times and the worst of times”.  It was just a matter of calling your wine god Bacchus or Dionysus or maybe you prefer your wine with pasta or maybe cheese?

No matter how you serve it up, I think that my plan is very simple and straight forward.  First, everyone who has been hoarding a great bottle of wine should go home tonight, open it, and drink it… unless you are a complete fool and have given up wine for lent… then there are a host of other issues we’d have to discuss.

Then, step two would be to subsidize the California wineries to bring the average price of a bottle of wine to around $6.  That means that those really expensive bottles like Opus One would sell for closer to $30 than $300.  Now, I don’t know about you, but if I find a bottle of Opus One for $30, I’m buying a case – even if it was my last $360.

This would all stimulate consumers to start buying/shopping/spending.  And, since it seems that our entire economy is based on buying/shopping/spending, the logical argument goes that our economy would be “stimulated” thus making my plan an actual “stimulus plan”.

But, it gets better.  For some reason, even if I only have $4 in my pocket, once I’ve had a glass or two of wine, I suddenly feel much more optimistic about myself.  I’ll even spend more than the $4 thinking that, of course, I’ll make more one day and pay it back.  And, with interest rates near 0%, I would be a fool not to borrow the money.  This “borrowing” would serve to get the banks lending again.  With all the spending and lending, housing would crawl out of the hole it is in and we’d all have a place to live.  On top of that, wine is a healthy thing to drink and, so, collaterally, I’ve helped with the healthcare issue.

So, let’s see, I’ve fixed housing, banking, stimulated the economy, rallied the country and helped with healthcare all with one simple plan that involves drinking wine!  I’m going to leave Iraq, Afghanistan, and China to Mr. Obama and I’ll leave the “looking good” to Mrs. Obama, she seems to have that part under control already.

ETJ

Much has changed.  The world at large has moved on.  I don’t spend much time talking about 9/11 although it is a day that remains etched in my memory as if it happened just yesterday.  When people ask about it I tell them that I was in WTC1.  Many don’t want to hear any details beyond that… the interest has faded… and justly so… our minds tend to work that way – avoid the negative and focus on the positive.  Otherwise, we’d never make it through this life.

This year is especially different for me for two big reasons:

• I am still contracted to the Port Authority of NY & NJ supporting their computer systems.  Seven years ago, I was doing a very similar job for the Port Authority of NY & NJ and we were doing a major upgrade project that was set to go live in October.  This year, we are doing a very similar project that is scheduled to go live in October.  The parallels are uncanny and a little unsettling.
• Seven years ago when I finally managed to get home around 10pm I walked into my house and found waiting for me my faithful companion Marty.  At that point, Marty had been my dog for 7 years and we had gotten to know each other very well.  I got used to coming home and no matter what mood I was in, Marty was always in the same mood – insanely excited to see me.  9/11/2001 was the only exception to Marty’s “same” mood.  She was somber.  Her head hung low and her tail was tucked between her legs.  I imagine I was throwing off a vibe that told her that I was pretty high strung and definitely not at ease.  As you may have read, earlier this year, Marty died.  I miss her often, but especially on the milestone days.

I guess that normal people might sit back and take stock.  Probably open the 2001 GDL reserve that I’ve been holding onto that probably needs to be drunk, find a friend, and have a few glasses of wine.  Of course, I’m far from normal.  Instead, I’ll be joining 11 of my closest friends on a 220 mile relay run through the great state of New Hampshire.  For those who read often – you’ll remember that I did this run last year and got a little off course.  I’ll be following the signs more closely this year.  Maybe next year I’ll open the GDL.

ETJ.

If you did get a phone number and actually intended to use it to secure a follow-up date – everyone knew the general ground rules – you were permitted to call the person between 50 and 70 hours of obtaining the phone number.  Anything less and you were a needy stalker and anything more and you were a non-committal player.  And, you actually had to talk to the person on the phone, sound interested, and somehow set up a date – as hard as getting the number was – you were now in cold-call land.

The world of cell phones has definitely changed the dating game.  No more giving fake numbers – you dial yours into my phone – I “send” my number to you by making your phone ring – we type names in – an d if it isn’t too weird (read more like, “if you are drunk enough to do it”) you snap a picture that will be displayed when you call or when I call you. 

But, the real change is in the Short Message Service – or SMS – or Text message.   SMS has changed some of the old rules…

Initial Contact

Getting a phone number on a Saturday night that you intend to use to secure a follow-up date means you still need those 50 – 70 hours before you can call – but a text message is appropriate – even expected within 15 – 18 hours of obtaining the number – again – too short is bad – but in this case – too long isn’t necessarily a bad thing – you can wait up until that 50 hour mark to send the first text.  So, now, instead of waiting by the phone for the guy or girl who you talked up to all your friends to call – you anxiously wait for that text message to come through.  And, if you have a Blackberry, iPhone, or some other multi-function phone you will somehow forget which tone means a text has arrived and you will jump up like a school girl even when the e-mail alert sounds until you finally get the text from your prospective date.

Then, you need to plan your return texting strategy.  Fast fingers can return a text within seconds after it is received, but, again, this can make the receiver seem needy or maybe insecure or even like they were happy to hear from you – and, we wouldn’t want that in the dating game.  My grandmother once said, after hearing that my aunt had returned a phone call within an hour from a man she met, ‘Hmmm she should’ve waited until tomorrow… that’d be the day I’d let a man know I wanted him that badly… returning a phone call within an hour… ugh… kids today.”

Planning

Planning the date is easy – right?  The conversation is something like, “Hey, we both like sushi.  Lets meet at 7pm at Sushi Samba on Thursday.”  Agreed…  but – date day will throw in all kinds of obstacles.  Sushi Samba will somehow be closed for renovations or too crowded or reserved for a private party.  If you are first to arrive, you will be texting your date to let them know that the place is not where you are going to be eating and that you need an alternative plan.  On the other side, you are getting the communication that the place is a no-go.  What does this mean?  Do they not want to see me?  Should I just go home?  Do they think I am too fat to eat sushi tonight?

To illustrate the point, let’s take an example of a romantic story from dating yore… boy meets girl, girl agrees to go out with boy, boy picks restaurant, boy and girl arrive at restaurant to find that it is closed… boy and girl walk through the streets of Manhattan hand in hand in search of an alternative restaurant.  They fall in love under the haze and soft glow of a June night in New York City.  Now, let’s take the same example with SMS… boy texts girl, girl texts back that she’ll go out with him, they agree over text to meet at a restaurant.  Boy arrives at the restaurant first to discover that it is closed.  Boy texts girl to inform her that the restaurant they chose is closed and that they will need an alternate plan.  Girl thinks boy is trying to get out of the date.  She texts her friend who agrees via text that all men are scum.  Girl returns text to boy saying that maybe she will be available some other night.  Boy texts his friends and goes out drinking until 4am.  Girl goes home and eats a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Late

Nobody is on time anymore.  When I was in high school, everyone was on time because if you weren’t, it was assumed that you were not coming and you were left behind.  The cell phone changed that – but you still had to call and be berated by the friends you were keeping waiting.   But now, with SMS you can just send a message.  There is little recourse from your friends.  As a matter of fact, I met a friend for dinner tonight.  He is perpetually late for everything – and so it was not at all a surprise when I got the text that he was, “running a couple of minutes late”.  Of course, fully expecting this, I was at the time I received his SMS, which was also the time we were scheduled to meet,  was having my shoes shined.

It is not different in the dating game.  Seems like everyone goes for a “pre-date” today.  If you have a date at 7pm, you go out with a friend at 5 to have a drink and discuss the impending date.  If things are going well, you have another drink… and before you know it – you are texting your date saying, “I’m running a few minutes late.”  Maybe more appropriate would be, “I’m running a few cocktails over.”

Dirty

And, now, it gets interesting.  It seems that people will say things in a text message that they would never utter in real life – even if they were paid to do so – and most people who are paid to do so get $1.99/minute on a 1-900 number.  But, give someone access to SMS and the things they will type would make Hugh Heffner blush.  What is it that gets unleashed between the brain and the fingers that doesn’t get unleashed between the brain and the tongue? 

So there you are in third or fourth date territory with your sweet Southern girl or properly schooled New England boy and somewhere around 1:30am on a Sunday morning after the first Saturday night that you haven’t spent together in a while you get a text message that goes something like, “I really wish you were so I could &)*& _*(  ))& and then )&&)(^^%$#&* and then we would &&*^%$.”

ETJ

That first night was not a fun night.  This dog – having no name – was not at all happy to be away from her mother, brothers, and sisters.  I placed her in a large box next to my bed with a blanket and a few dog toys.  She stated her unhappiness by barking incessantly until I dangled my hand over the bed and into the box.  She snuggled up next to it and finally fell asleep… until about 3am… which is when the explosive diarrhea began.  I woke to a horrible smell and to find that my 6 pound puppy had managed to create a 12 pound pile of shit and then roll through it thoroughly covering herself, her blanket, and my hand.

Over the next three weeks, this dog unveiled her personality.  Certainly she would become housebroken and I would eradicate the fleas and she would grow into a strong friendly dog and she would stop barking so much and she would calm down, not need so much exercise, and spend most of her time sleeping next to me while I worked or watched TV.  Her name came one day while watching a hockey game on TV – the nameless animal next to me – and Marty McSorley on television…  and it just worked… Marty was officially “born”.

The years did bring a stronger animal – topping out at 52 pounds of solid muscle.  I started training for marathons and as Marty seemed to have limitless energy (so much for not requiring so much exercise), I started taking her out running with me.  Alas, the fleas were gone and she was housebroken – but she never stopped barking – unless she was running, sleeping, or eating and she never really was that much of a sleeper or eater. 

Ramping up for a marathon is a slow process.  I started off with a short-ish 3 mile run and was working toward that magical 20-mile training run.  Marty ran the 3 miles and was ready for more – I was not.  4 miles, 5 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles – not a problem.  But, the day I tried to take her on an 8-mile run I learned that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for.  She decided at about mile 7 and ½ that she was not going to go any further.  So, we stopped and she sat down on the sidewalk as to reinforce the fact that she was done running.  After a few minutes, I managed to get her to walk and then I slowly broke into a jog.  As soon as the speed picked up though, she sat down again and refused to move forward any longer.  I carried my 52 pound dog home 1 mile that day.  My arms got a better workout than my legs.

Over the years, we moved around quite a bit.  I think though, that Marty’s happiest years were spent in a house I owned in Metuchen, NJ.  She had a huge yard to run around and bark and bark and bark.  She spent nearly 7 years barking about that yard – serving as an alarm clock for the neighborhood in the morning and letting everyone know when, exactly, I arrived home from work at night.  There is even a picture of her and me running through the beginning of a blizzard in the local Metuchen paper.  I estimate that Marty ran about 18,000 miles over her lifetime – not sure if that needs some sort of multiplication factor like dog years or to account for 4 legs instead of 2.

It is said that a dog is a man’s best friend.  I completely understand that statement.  In all the years we spent together she was never mad at me, never held a grudge, and somehow always seemed to know exactly what I needed.  On 9/11/2001 I found myself on the 71^st floor of the North tower of the World Trade Center.  After a harrowing escape from the towers followed by a day looking for friends, finally finding food, and finally getting home at about 11pm; I found Marty waiting for me, tail wagging but her head hanging low and her eyes just looking up at me.  She sensed my high anxiety.  I let her outside and then we went to bed.  She jumped in and slept next to me – not moving even as I jumped at the slightest noise.  It was the only night I can remember since the first day I picked her up and until the last day I saw her that she didn’t bark.

Dog years are a horrible thing.  At only 14 and ½ years old Marty became an old lady.  Translating for advances in health care, a good diet, and plenty of exercise 14 and ½ becomes about 94 years old.  In the end, she shrunk to 38 pounds.  In her eyes I could still see the puppy but the legs and old bones had given up.

The physical Marty is gone.  She has left a huge hole in my life and in my heart.  I have no doubt though that her spirit will live on… and if it is true that all dogs go to heaven then heaven just got a little bit better – albeit louder – and maybe God himself has already uttered the phrase that became so prevalent at my house among visiting friends and family, “Marty, shut up!”

Rest in Peace my faithful companion.

ETJ

The constant churn of the Catholic Dogma explains why I don’t do organized religion – I just follow the golden rule – “Treat others as you wish to be treated and always share your wine.” But, I thought I’d review the new list of sins – and see if I have managed to break any of them… yet…

• Environmental Pollution – well, I’m not sure what this means. I will admit to farting while I was out running this morning – I guess that might count? But I have certainly never driven around in a Jeep Wrangler – 15 miles/gallon before the huge plastic box modification – waving to people in Vatican city…
• Genetic Manipulation – this one seems kind of wide-open… like, if I happen to reproduce (granted this is highly unlikely…) does that count? I mean, I combined genes from two people and created a new one… What about if I breed dogs – in an attempt to breed all the good traits from each breed into one super-dog? Attempts so far have been pretty successful – although the names are a bit odd – “Labradoodles” and “Puggles”? Now those names are a sin!
• Accumulating Excessive Wealth – I hope my accountant knows the cap… I would hate to be judged based on my tax returns. Imagine – the voice of God sentencing you to the depths of hell because in 2003 you earned “$87,000” – and we have the tax return to prove it! And, by the way… has anyone seen Vatican City lately? Talk about excessive wealth!
• Inflicting Poverty – This one I understand – but it is kind of unnecessary for this list – mainly because it is the same thing as Accumulating Excessive Wealth. Examples include the executives at Enron and Bear Stearns and Andersen Consulting – remember those companies? They managed to inflict poverty on lots of people – by being so greedy that they were stupid in spite of themselves. But, the very people who took your money pocketed it – some walked away fat and happy – a few dropped dead – but that was before this was listed as a sin – so I think they were grandfathered in…
• Drug Trafficking and Consumption – Oh shit!  To think of all that wine I carted back from Napa Valley…
• Morally Debatable Experiments – So many questions…. 1) Isn’t everything “Morally Debatable?”; 2) Is it still “Experimental” if both of us have done it before?; and 3) Does last weekend count?
• Violation of fundamental rights of human nature – have you had the alter wine? That is a violation of fundamental rights of humans AND nature!

Going to mass is like going to a bad bar… the only good thing you get out of it is a glass of cheap wine.

ETJ

But, being an early adapter has its drawbacks. The iPhone did not initially allow me to send SMS to more than one person at a time – are you serious? It still doesn’t allow me to send or receive picture messages – how am I supposed to see the cute puppy my friend just snapped a picture of – do I need to wait to see him in person? Actually, I have used picture messaging in the past to troubleshoot a network wiring issue – a few snapshots of the switch and the offending wires sent between phones and viola – the problem was resolved – so I do have an actual use for picture messaging beyond the social aspects.

This morning, I wanted to transfer a few songs that I had just purchased from iTunes to my iPhone. I plugged my iPhone into the USB port on my computer and a message popped up asking if I wanted to upgrade to the latest version – 1.1.3 – of the software on the iPhone. It promised some really cool features – like shaking icons that I could rearrange on the screen and the ability to send SMS to more than one person at a time. What could possibly go wrong? So, I accepted the download. My iPhone’s data was dutifully backed up before the software upgrade was applied and it said something about “installing software” and that it as going to take about 5 minutes. I hopped in the shower and when I got out – I checked my iPhone and there was a horrifying message on it saying that I needed to restore it to the original settings and that everything on the phone – contacts, pictures, settings, etc… would be wiped out – but I would certainly have the latest version of the software. NO! NO! NO!

I called Apple support. It was like talking to Grace – Ed Rooney’s assistant from Ferris Beuller’s Day Off, “Well, sir, please go ahead and reset your phone.” I did as the lady advised – and then was presented with a glimmer of hope – iTunes asked if I wanted to restore all my data from the backup that was taken just before the upgrade was applied. YES! YES! YES! But, actually clicking “YES” did not restore the data – instead it just put up a message saying that the backup was corrupt. The woman from Apple explained that the backup is ALWAYS corrupt and that iTunes just made the statement about backup and recovery to make me feel better. I guess I should have known better than to trust an on-line music store and music library to update software on my mobile phone… duh!?!

Alas, I am beyond the sadness and minor depression caused by losing all my pictures and I have retyped my lost contact information (96 of them – thankfully I’m not that popular) and reloaded my music – I even took a few new pictures so I wouldn’t feel so empty inside.

The new software is really cool too – and it does what was promised – the new mapping features are cool – I can send SMS to multiple people – and I can rearrange my vibrating icons.

That leaves only a few issues for Apple to fix 1) I want to send pictures via SMS; 2) I want seamless software upgrades; 3) I want the backup to actually work; 4) I want to be able to use any network other than AT&T. I think two tin cans and a string offer a better network than AT&T – but don’t get me started on how horrible their service is – a quick example – I spend about 90% of my time in Manhattan – and 90% of that time, I have no signal. When I was on the Verizon network, I always had a signal. Too bad Verizon has boring old phones. I think it would be a great iPartnership if iApple gave an iPhone to that little guy who walks around and says, “Can you hear me now?”, because the answer is always iCan.

 ETJ

So, I thought I’d just throw out a few wine terms – and the definition – so you could sound like a bright, well educated host or guest at Christmas Dinner.

• Oenophile – an expensive drunk.
• White Zinfandel – Rosè image wrecker
• Alter Wine – Catholic Holy Juice or the process of modifying your wine by adding water or some other atrocity.
• Aroma – how it smells – silly.
• Blind Tasting – what happens after several bottles have been drunk and people start blindly opening more.
• Box Wine – a contradiction in terms… an oxymoron.
• Brix – how sweet it is.
• Cellaring – apparently some people save wine to drink at some future date.  This practice is lost on me.
• Decanting – The practice of pouring wine from the bottle to some other container thereby increasing the time it takes until I get to drink it.
• Drip Dickey – This could happen if you drink too much wine (and we all know what that leads to) with the wrong partner.
• Jeroboam – One hell of a lot of wine.
• Legs – What you might get caught staring at after a few glasses at your local wine bar.  If it works out, see “Drip Dickey” above.
• Nebuchadnezzar – Even more than one hell of a lot of wine.
• Proof – Just how drunk can I get?  Oh yeah?  Prove it!
• Screwcap – New Technology bent on making your corkscrew collection useless.  The big selling point is that you can reseal the bottle and save what is left for another day.  I’ve never had this issue.
• Wine Fraud – anyone who drinks White Zinfandel out of the box.

Happy Holidays!

ETJ

Apparently, I have built up a bit of a tolerance to drugs.  I can only assume this came from a general over-consumption of red wine while in the Napa, Sonoma, and Willamette valleys this summer.

I arrived, per instructions, at the laser eye center at 1:15pm on the day of Surgery.  Surgery was scheduled for 2pm.  I was given a Valium and had a conversation with my doctor, Jacqueline Muller, about night vision and the custom view process.  At about 1:35pm, Dr. Muller asked me if I had any Valium as I seemed very coherent.  I told her that I had and she gave me another one.  Just before 2pm, the tech came to walk me in for surgery.  He said that he would help me into the room since I had had 2 Valium, I must be feeling pretty good.  I told him I was fine and walked in on my own power.  Dr. Muller asked if I had actually taken the Valium.  I told her that I had and her response was to give me another one.

Then the process began.  I sat on the table and Dr. Muller asked me to look across the room and tell her what time it was.  I told her that I could not see any clock across the room.  She said that she’d help me out – and that it was 2pm.

Then, aliens abducted me.  At least, that is what it seemed like.  My right eye was covered, my left eye numbed with drops, propped opened, the incision made, the flap flapped back and a laser beam flashed for about 40 seconds.  The process was repeated vice versa.  I was then sat upright and asked to look across the room to see what time it was – to which I replied – 2:10pm.  It was then that I realized that 1) I could see the clock across the room; 2) I could read the clock across the room; and 3) it clearly must take longer than 10 minutes and so the only logical explanation for the overall speed of the process was an alien abduction.

Post surgery – I sat in the outpatient area with funny sunglasses and stuff taped over my eyes.  I was getting my post-surgery instructions from a nurse who said, “It is rare that we see someone who does this without any Valium.”  I explained that I DID have Valium – this earned me a take-home tablet.

Finally at home, I took my last Valium – and lay back to “rest” my eyes – only to awake several hours later – ready for a glass of red – and a long night’s sleep.

I am still adjusting to the ability to pick up a bottle and read the fine print – without lenses.

ETJ

Looking around to find the right “stranger” upon which to pounce – I realized that talking to any one of them was not in the cards.  They were all plugged into their iPods listening to Iggy Pop or Madonna or maybe that U + Ur Hand Pink song that has been stuck in my head all day since I woke up to it blaring on the alarm clock radio.

I finally disembarked and got up to street level where I was overcome with the urge to send someone a text to tell them just how boring my train ride was… but, alas, too much texting in one day caused my battery to be dead – no service for me.  I have about a 3-block walk from the train to my house.  Certainly the dog would be excited to hear how bored I was all the way home.  In that 3-block walk, I noted 5 people jabbering away on their cell phones.  This being New York City, you would expect them to be saying things like, “I got your fax – and I’ll process your request immediately.” Or, “Linda has given the go-ahead to hire Adam – go ahead and process that paperwork so we can extend the offer first thing in the morning.”  Or, “BUY! BUY!, no, no SELL! SELL!”  But, they were not – instead they were pretty much telling the person on the other end of the phone that they were bored.

Now, I’m all for technology – I have a cell phone and an iPod and a flat panel TV and at the end of the day, technology is why I get a paycheck.  But, I have a premise that we would all be a lot less “bored” if we stopped jabbering away on our cell phones and listening to our iPods and actually talked to the people around us.  Imagine spending your time on the train discovering interesting information about the people around you.  Imagine walking home and saying hello to the people you passed instead of talking to someone you couldn’t see or listening to “Crazy Train” – again – editorial note – Ozzy Rocks!

Truth be told, there is a danger in that type of behavior as well.  Many of the people you commute with and see on your way home are total whack jobs and really aren’t that interesting.  You really need to get lucky to find that diamond in the ruff.  And vice versa.  It seems that if two strangers are talking on an airplane that only one is having fun.

But, this problem generally doesn’t exist at a wine bar.  People usually put away their iPod and their cell phone, drink some wine, and talk to the people around them.  This leads me to believe that either people that hang out in wine bars and drink wine are just more interesting than the general population or that wine makes everyone more interesting.  Of course, there is a whole population walking past outside – talking into their cell phones – telling the person on the other end, “Man, I am bored, but there is no way I’m going into this wine bar with those nut jobs – they’ll want to TALK to me.”

All this writing has made me thirsty – I’m going to go get a glass – feel free to join me – I’ll be quiet.

ETJ

Let 9 went fairly well…  then I started leg 21 – at about 5am – pitch black outside – with the rain coming down – and things didn’t go so well…

I was supposed to run the 7-mile leg in about 47 minutes…  I felt pretty good despite the rain and the darkness and the hills of New Hampshire.  I even felt, dare I say, FAST…

As I ran, the sun started to rise ever so slightly and illuminate the New Hampshire hillside.  I looked at my watch and noticed that I’d been running for about 40 minutes.  I should be done in the next 6 or 7 minutes, I thought.  I also thought it was a bit odd that I didn’t see any of the pace vans around me or any other runners – maybe I wasn’t going as fast as I thought – but I couldn’t be too far off my time.

Minute 45…  minute 46… minute 47… minute 48… minute 49… minute 50… minute 51… minute 52…

Now, this is crazy – on my slowest day I wouldn’t run 7 miles in more than 50 minutes.  I realized that something was very wrong – either 1) I had been abducted by aliens and experimented on for 20 or so minutes and then put back on the road none-the-wiser or 2) I was totally off course and… lost.

Naturally, I assumed that I had been abducted by aliens and that in the next few minutes I’d arrive at the transition point and hand off to the next runner, discover some odd markings on my body (which I did, but that is a totally different story), eventually undergo hypnotherapy and describe the cat-like creatures who had probed me. 

Oddly enough, I HADN’T been abducted by aliens – but I was… Lost.

Using my quick thinking skills (I was a boy scout), I flagged down a passing truck – a construction worker on his way to work – and borrowed his cell phone.  Who to call?  911, of course.  What did we do before cell phones and 911?

The conversation went something like:

Operator, “New Hampshire 911, what is your emergency?”

Me, “Um, well, this isn’t an emergency, but, I am running the Reach The Beach Relay and…”

Operator Interrupts, “Oh my gosh, you are the lost runner!”

Me, “Well, yes I am.”

Operator, “Where are you?”

Me, “Well… lost kind of implies… hold on…”

So, I found out where I was from the construction worker and got some directions from the operator and started running in that direction.

About 10 minutes later, NHSP came racing down the highway with lights flashing followed by my team in the pace van – with bananas and water – just the fuel I’d need to run the approximately 14 additional miles to the transition point – and not get my team disqualified.

I really have no excuse for getting lost – I know I’ve managed to navigate the NYC subway system with no issues even after a wine tasting event – you’d think I could find my way through the Granite State completely sober – maybe next year I’ll replace my Gatorade with a nice Pinot Grigio.  Oh, and, I did manage to run leg 33 – in the light – in a somewhat decent time.

ETJ – even if it is a little bit longer than you expected…